


what your (broken) mind told you (even if it was never the truth)

by nutzone



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Basically Thorin falling into the dark pit that is his own mind, Gold Sickness, M/M, Madness, POV Second Person, Pining, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutzone/pseuds/nutzone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin Oakenshield had thought his grandfather to be mad, but in the end, perhaps he was a much wiser dwarf than he.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what your (broken) mind told you (even if it was never the truth)

Hate, hate, hate, you hate him.

(no you don’t.)

Treasure is what you have, you have nothing but treasure, you think and sit down before the pile of gold. The room is dark, and you can only see a faint glimmer of it.

No matter what you do, no matter how much you try, you will have no one to love you, you know that. You shut your eyes and breathe shakily through your nose.

He was so weak, so pathetic, so small and so frail. You knew it, but then you saw he was so beautiful.

It should have been the first warning sign, you know now.

You were so naïve, you foolish old sod. You thought when you put a hand on his shoulder, that maybe you could be happy, if only you had his love.

You thought that maybe you had it. You think you thought that you loved him too.

Today, when you held him so tight around that little throat of his, you knew that it was not so.

Now you know, there can be no place in your heart for anything but gold. Now you know you can never trust anybody. Now you know he was nothing but an illusion.

He wanted your treasure all along, did he not. Then he went straight to the one you hate most.

You’re not even sure you hate Thranduil as much as you hate Him anymore.

Was his love feigned, you wonder, and you know that it is so.

It would have served him right if you had snapped his neck then, to silence that filthy little mouth forever, so that no lies from there could hurt you.

But you could not.

(you are weak.)

So you tossed him to the ground. He fell like the weakling he is, so frail, and oh so beautiful.

You press your palms to your face and feel your heart tightening. This is why your grandfather never allowed himself to trust anyone. You called your grandfather mad, but now you see that perhaps he was wiser than you would ever be. This pain is your whole body, you are not even sure if it is hatred or love. You only know that you want nothing of it.

I hope you die, Bilbo Baggins, you scream, may you die a death of flames! May you rot in the bottom of a lake!

But the image these words produce in your mind makes you sob and bite your lip.

No, you can never let anyone in again. It matters not who they are. You are king now, you have a kingdom now, you are the one they must worship.

You remove your hands and look at your treasure.

Yes, you think, this is what I have. This is all there is.

You don’t know how many days you spent in the chamber. Nobody came to look for you.

On your shoulders are the crimson furs your grandfather wore.

You are King under the mountain, everyone fears you and nobody loves you, just as it should be.

No one is to distract you now, no one can whisper in your ear with sweet words, advising you what is best and fooling you with their love.

Your grandfather would be proud.

(your mother would cry.)

Your mind is in darkness. You can’t think of anything else but the gold and the hate.

(you try so hard not to think about the pain, about the emptiness, and the coldness where there once was a Hobbit and a family by your side)

(it’s so cold please help me it’s so cold)

One day, you try to remember the face of your father, but you realize you have forgotten.

The discovery tightens your throat painfully, and you gasp for breath as you wonder how Frerin looked.

You can’t remember him either.

Your hands nestle in your knotted hair, and you pull and pull until you are almost certain you have blood under your nails. You breathe heavily and quickly, but none of it seems to reach your lungs, your throat hurts, it hurts too much, oh god it hurts. You dare not close your eyes, for you know that if you do, there will be tears when you open them again. You fall on your knees. Your shoulders shake and you can’t stop it now, no, it’s impossible.

No, you cry and your shoulders shake violently, no no no no no no.

You crawl on your knees towards your precious treasure in an attempt to find perspective to this hell. The gold is smooth, and you caress it with bloody hands. You hold something, you cannot see what it is, for your vision is blurred, but you know it has to be important, a treasure of your grandfather, yes, yes, gold, yours, isn’t it. You cannot cry, you have no reason to cry, everything you wanted is yours, yours, yours.

Mine, you gasp and lay down on the treasure for it will never leave you.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to draw Thorin having a minor breakdown, but I had no tablet, so I wrote it instead. hope you think it's cool, if not, let me know. let me know whatever it is you think of it, preferrably, but you can totally just write the bad stuff too. ehhh. yeah. not re read or anything, just written very hastily.


End file.
